Dragon's Wish
by WitheringSage
Summary: Raja doesn't understand why her cousin, Lancelot, doesn't like her. And when he makes fun of her, she decides to get even.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This certainly isn't one of my favorites. But it is a part of the series, so therefore, I post it. It has significant importance as to the development in Raja's and Lancelot's relationship.

**  
Dragon's Wish**

Chronology: Tristan is 18. Lancelot is 16. Raja is 8.

"What are you doing?" a harsh voice demanded.

Raja turned around to see her cousin looking at her angrily.

"Brushing Adonis," she said casually. Adonis was Lancelot's horse.

Her cousin stomped over to her and snatched the brush from her hand. Adonis nuzzled her head affectionately.

Lancelot sighed, irritated. "You don't even know what you're doing."

Raja looked at him quizzically. "Adonis didn't seem to have a problem with it. He likes me."

"You think all animals like you," he retorted. "Besides, he's already been groomed." He put the brush back to its original place.

Raja scuffed her foot against the ground. She didn't understand why her cousin didn't like her. When he wasn't ignoring her, he was teasing her, and when he wasn't teasing her, he was berating her.

"You act like all these horses belong to you," he continued. "Like that little stunt you pulled last week."

The week before Raja had released all the horses from their stables. It had been a nice morning, so she thought they could all go for a walk. The young stable hand was snoring in the corner and Jols hadn't been around. Her and the horses, including her Uncle Ardeth's walked around in the forest. When Jols had arrived to see that all the horses were gone, and the young boy knew nothing about it, he was incensed. When the rest of the knights were told that their horses were missing, they were angry. One of the Roman guards told them that he saw "that little Egyptian girl" leading them away into the woods. Just as they were about to go search, Raja and her companions were already heading back to the stables. They shot questions at her, but were relieved to see that their horses were all right.

"What did I say about this, Raja?" her uncle reproved.

"Nothing went wrong," she insisted. "I would have protected them with my life. We just wanted to go for a walk."

The sincerity of her explanation mollified the outrage of her actions. They could even be a bit amused. Jols was befuddled of her control over the horses, damned surprised they hadn't just run off. The only one that wasn't placated was Lancelot, now he was especially wary of his cousin being in Adonis's company.

"I apologized," Raja told Lancelot. "I said I wouldn't do it again."

"Damn right you won't," he snapped.

It was near dusk, the horses were being settled in for the night. Tristan and Dagonet entered the stables to see to their horses, only to find Lancelot lecturing Raja again. They minded their own, even though they were just as confused as to why Lancelot was so short with his cousin. But it made Tristan more than confused. He knew Lancelot's barbs hurt Raja much more than she let on.

Raja had stepped over to her uncle's horse, Ra, to see how he was doing. She had been spending most of her time in the stables now, ever since her old mare had died less than a month ago, the cut of her mare's passing was deep. She brushed Ra gently, murmuring soothing Arabic words that she knew he liked. Tristan kept a discreet eye on her to monitor her emotions. Ever since her break down two months ago he had become more protective of her.

"Why do you have to be so impatient with her?" Dagonet reproved quietly to Lancelot.

"She bloody thinks she can talk to animals, acts like she runs the damned stables," he hissed.

"She does not," Dagonet countered, still whispering. "She loves animals; you know she would do nothing to harm any of these horses."

Lancelot scoffed. "She ought to go play with skunks," his voice rose a little. "With that hair she could be mistaken for one."

From the corner of his eye, Tristan saw Raja wince and touch the white streak in her hair. He knew she had not been born with that, and also was aware that she was sensitive of it. He saw Raja swallow heavily, put the brush down, pat Ra on the head before exiting the stables.

"She heard you," Tristan said, giving Lancelot a deadly glare.

Lancelot looked towards the stable doors before rolling his eyes. "She'll be fine."

"She better be," Tristan warned.

"Oh, there he is again," Lancelot mocked, "Sir Tristan to the rescue. Raja's hero."

Sir Tristan took a menacing step towards Lancelot. Dagonet held up a hand, ever the peace maker. He wanted to punch Lancelot's face in as well, but he reigned that urge in. Tristan clenched his fists and left lest he carry out his original intentions.

Dagonet shook his head at Lancelot, disappointed. "What the hell is your problem?"

For the first time, Lancelot looked slightly contrite. "She knows I was joking," he said dismissively.

The other knight sighed.

-----------------------------------------

Dagonet, Arthur, Bors and Lancelot were already in the tavern eating their breakfasts. A few moments later, Tristan and Raja walked in and took seats next to each other at the table. Greetings stopped short when the men noticed Raja's hair.

"Uh...why did you cut off the white?" Bors asked.

She smiled and touched the area where the white strip of hair had been. The night before she had chopped it off, shaved it down as close to the scalp as she could get. In the morning she put some ink on the shaved area, and then rearranged the parting of her hair to make it look more natural.

"I never liked it," she said. "It was ugly."

Dagonet looked at Lancelot pointedly.

"What?" Lancelot shrugged. Then he noticed the increasingly unsettling gaze Tristan was giving him. The curly haired knight looked away.

Food was placed before Tristan and Raja. The little Egyptian dug into her porridge hungrily, while the scout chewed slowly, methodically, an ice gold stare pinned to Lancelot.

"I liked it," Dagonet said.

Raja took a sip of her drink. "That's nice of you, Dag. I really should have cut it off a long time ago. It wasn't natural."

"Well, if you were born with it-" Arthur said.

Raja's face subtly tightened. "I wasn't born with it."

"Oh," Arthur was surprised. "I thought-"

She shook her head.

"How'd you get it then?" Lancelot asked.

Tristan kicked him hard in the shin underneath the table. Lancelot's face turned read, groaning in pain. The scout's face betrayed nothing as he continued to eat his food.

"What was that for?" Lancelot demanded.

"Sorry," Tristan said, "muscle spasm." Couldn't the idiot tell that the subject was a sensitive one?

Raja's shoulders were hunched as she shoveled spoonfuls of porridge into her mouth. When she was finished she hastily excused herself, she had homework to complete.

"Don't you think you could be a little nicer to her?" Arthur asked. He was amazed at his friend's aversion to Raja.

"What? I should coddle her like the rest of you?" he defended.

"Nobody's coddling her," Bors said.

Lancelot scoffed. "Spoiled brat," he muttered.

Tristan kicked him in the other shin, causing Lancelot to howl even louder than before. Other patrons turned around to stare at the commotion. Dagonet cocked his eyebrow at the scout.

Tristan shrugged. "Muscle spasm."

-------------------------------------------

It was evening. The tavern was loud with laughter and drunken babble. Tristan sat in a corner, sipping his ale and ignoring the wenches that approached him. He had taken one two days ago; he could make do for another few months. Then a voice, which certainly was not a wench, spoke quietly in his ear.

"If you're looking for a pretty lady I've seen a couple that have been eyeing you rather voraciously," Raja said.

She had been holed up in her room all day. She rarely came to the taverns in the evenings, it wasn't as if her uncle had forbidden her from doing so – but what did an eight year old have to do among drunks and whores? Raja sat next to him, holding a mug with both her hands, further hidden in the shadows. The little imp was quieter than Tristan. How did she get into the tavern and around all the tables without anyone noticing?

"Being small has its advantages," she told him as if she had read his mind. She took a gulp from her mug. "So, which ones are you looking at?" She scanned the area.

"Are you drinking?" Tristan asked.

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," she orated.

He wanted to take the mug away from her, but that was something for a parent to do. How old had he been when he first drank? He couldn't remember.

"You didn't answer me, Trissy. Which ones are you looking at?"

"I'm not looking at any of them." A few months ago, speaking of this with her would have made him uncomfortable, now it seemed completely natural.

"Oh," she shrugged acceptingly. She gulped more of her ale.

"What will your uncle say about that?"

Raja stopped mid drink and looked into her cup. "You know, I didn't think of that." She drummed her fingers on the table. "Well, I'll just finish the rest and call it a night."

Tristan smirked and finished the rest of his ale.

"I need your help," she told him.

He raised his eyebrow. "With what?"

"An operation of the utmost importance."

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Like what?"

"Some sort of commander."

She paused. "I didn't realize I was. It must be all the extra reading I've been doing. Anyway, I need your muscle; I can't carry him by myself." She looked at Lancelot across the ways.

"Interesting."

-----------------------------------------

Tristan and Raja huddled in the corner of the alleyway. It was the middle of autumn and the wind was sending a sharp chill through Raja's body.

"I'm certainly not in Egypt anymore," she muttered, shivering, followed by a series of coughs which she tried to keep muffled.

Tristan took off his cloak and draped it over her. He had never seen someone so affected by an autumn breeze.

"Thank you," she smiled, gathering up the large piece of cloth. It could have covered two of her. "Won't you be cold though?"

"Hmmph. I'll be fine," he told her, smiling in the dark. "There he is."

She looked and saw Lancelot coming down the ways with a woman attached to his person. Raja took from her satchel what looked to be a very thin wooden dart with a colorful feather on the end. Then she put the dart into a wooden blowpipe.

"What is that?" his voice barely above a whisper.

She struggled to hide her devious snickering. "You'll see. Be ready to silence the woman."

Raja got into place to do whatever she was going to do. She put her lips to the end of her foreign apparatus, aiming it carefully. When Lancelot was in the perfect place, she blew the wooden dart from the tube, right into the side of Lancelot's neck. He looked confused for a moment, and pulled the dart from his neck. Before he could say a thing, he collapsed to the ground. And just as Raja knew, the woman would scream, but Tristan came behind her and put his hand over her mouth. When the woman saw Raja, a tiny little thing, her panic simmered to confusion.

"Don't scream," Raja told her.

Slowly, Tristan uncovered the woman's mouth, no scream was forthcoming.

"You killed him," she squeaked.

Tristan was thinking the same thing.

"No, no," the little one said, waving her hand dismissively at the notion. "He's just unconscious. I promise." She bent down to pick up the dart. Then she took out three pure gold coins. She took the woman's hand, dropping the loot into it. "For your silence."

The woman looked at the coins, confused.

Raja sighed. "Oh all right." She dumped five more gold coins into the woman's hand. "I'm not going to hurt him," she assured her. "But I need you not to tell anyone. For tonight, anyway."

The woman couldn't stop looking at the gold she held. "I won't say a word."

"Thank you," Raja said, "I appreciate it." Now she was back to business. "Okay, I need you to carry him," she told Tristan. "I would drag him, but I doubt I could even do that."

Tristan decided to remain silent for the moment. He had never seen a weapon such as the one Raja used, nor someone with that many coin – and gold coin at that – on such a young person. With almost little effort, Tristan had Lancelot over his shoulders.

------------------------------------

Using great stealth, they forwarded themselves to Lancelot's hut. Raja opened the door, holding it open for Tristan.

"Okay, I'll need him in a chair for this." She pulled one out and steadied Lancelot as Tristan plopped the immobile body onto it.

"Are you going to fill me in now?" he asked.

Raja went to stoke the fire, adding more light to the room. Then she moved towards the bed where there were other small satchels, and organized them on the table.

"I am going to mess with his heads," she told him gleefully. She readied her tools; all of them sharp save for a comb and a jar of liquid oil.

"Raja," Tristan hesitated, seeing her arsenal of tools that looked like a pocket sized version of the armory.

"Just a haircut, Trissy," she said. She began to snip off Lancelot's raven curls with scissors. "You asked what I was using. I used a wooden dart from the jungles of Africa that contain elements to render a person," she patted Lancelot on the head, "unconscious."

Tristan sat down on the bed, interested in this new weapon she spoke of.

"Do you have more?"

She beamed a conspiratorial smile at him, which he returned. "There's apples in my larger satchel," said Raja.

He didn't hesitate to take one. He used his dagger to slice pieces of it off.

"As for the coin," she spoke, "nobility has its perks." She finished cutting off Lancelot's hair. She took one of her sharp objects used for shaving and dipped it in a liquid oil, humming a cheerful melody as she worked. Tristan watched as she worked steadily and methodically, admiring her sense of ingenuity. In a matter of time, Raja had shaved a crude target on Lancelot's head; two concentric circles, with a bull's eye of hair in the very center.

Tristan chuckled at the thought of Lancelot's reaction in the morning. Hopefully it would be humbling. Especially as he now saw Raja shaving off Lancelot's facial hair that he had been growing and painstakingly grooming, then she removed his eyebrows.

"Done!" Raja announced with flourish. She ignored her cousin's prone body while she gathered up his fallen hair with her hands before throwing them into the fire. "Now," she grinned widely, "for the finale."

"There's more?" Tristan asked, wondering what else she could do to cause him embarrassment.

"Would you place him on the bed for me, please?"

He shrugged and complied.

"All right, I need you to assist for this one," she told him, two especially sharp objects held in each of her tiny hands.

"What are you going to do?"

Her smile could only be characterized as sadistic. "I am going to deface his other head."

"Huh?"

She looked at him, eyes aglitter. "You will now witness your first bris."

"What is that?"

"It is the Jewish rite of circumcising a male child on its eighth day of life. But one does not have to be Jewish or eight days old for it to actually be done."

Tristan said nothing; he was still stuck on the word 'circumcising.'

The little one saw the look of clarity pass over her friend's face. That's what she meant by "his other head."

He stopped her when he saw her going to untie the man's leather breeches. "I don't think you should do that."

She sighed impatiently. "Is this a sympathizing male thing? Or are you becoming squeamish?"

He puffed up at the thought of being considered squeamish. "No, but..."

"So it's a male thing," she repeated.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" he averted answering her question.

"I've seen one performed. It's just cutting off some skin." This time he swiftly grabbed her weapons of defamation from her hands as she went to untie Lancelot's breeches.

"Excuse you!" she exclaimed looking betrayed.

He almost relented. Almost. "It isn't that I'm sympathizing with him, but you don't know what you're doing."

It was her turn to be indignant. "It isn't complicated. If you don't want to help, then don't. I appreciate you getting him here, but I have work to finish," she went to grab her tools back, but he sidestepped her. She hopped up and down trying to retrieve her implements, but Tristan was taller.

"I'm not joking, Raj," he told her.

"Is this about seeing his privates?" she went on. "You don't have to watch; I just need you to hold it up while I cut it off."

Tristan's male anatomy shuddered at the thought. She was partially correct; it wasn't Tristan himself sympathizing with Lancelot, but rather his own privates that cried out for mercy on Lancelot's behalf.

"Well?" Raja tapped her foot.

Tristan shook his head. Raja wilted, disappointed and a little hurt at Tristan's refusal to help.

"I thought you were on my side," she accused.

"I am."

She scoffed. She quickly began to pack up her tools, muttering a slew of Arabic and Sarmatian obscenities. She held her hand out for the two blades Tristan had in his possession so she could put them away. Reluctantly, he gave them back. Before they were about to leave, Raja stopped and looked back at her inert cousin. She put her satchels back on the table and walked over to him. She took off his boots, undid his belt that had his dagger attached. Then she tugged the blankets from underneath him and tucked him in snuggly.

Raja slowly pulled the ruby-eyed dragon trinket from underneath Lancelot's tunic. She held it in her hand and then pulled hers out from underneath her tunic, looking at them both to see if they were similar. She supposed no hand carved objects could look exactly the same; hers was a tad bit smaller.

Tristan looked on and his heart tugged to see her trying to form a connection with her cousin. _Damn him,_ Tristan thought.

She tucked Lancelot's trinket back under his shirt, kissed him on the forehead, and they left the room.

----------------------------------------

Lancelot sat hunched in his seat at the Round Table. His cloak was pulled around him, the hood covering his head and most of his face. He'd woken up disoriented, a little woozy. The last thing he had remembered was walking towards his hut with a beautiful woman he had had his eyes on for weeks. He felt a prick in his neck then...nothing. He had rubbed his hand down his face, wiping away the vestiges of sleep. He felt the lack of facial hair, the cool draft on his head. And adding insult to injury, the culprit had the nerve to attempt to soften the situation by tucking him in.

The other knights were gathered around the table, wondering what Lancelot was doing. Tristan knew, his smirk was tight, trying to keep it hidden.

Ardeth was sitting to the right of Arthur. He sometimes attended as a consultant, guiding the young commander. Ardeth was also a good friend of Pelagius, Arthur's surrogate father who resided in Rome.

"Is there something wrong, Lancelot?" Arthur asked.

"No," he muttered.

"Cold?" Tristan mused.

"No," the newly bald knight replied tersely.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind dismissing the theatrics so we could begin the meeting?" Arthur assumed his commander's tone.

Lancelot heard the tone. Arthur might have been his best friend, but he was also his commander.

"Lancelot." Arthur repeated.

"I was attacked last night," he blurted.

The room went silent. Attacked?

Arthur's voice was a mix of confusion and concern. "Could you elaborate?"

Lancelot told him. He was walking to his hut with a woman, then out of nowhere a sharp object pierced his neck, then he woke up in his bedroom this morning. "Like this!" he exclaimed, pulling off his hood.

There was a split of silence before the room erupted into laughter. Even Arthur, who usually tried to retain a commander's poise during official meetings, openly laughed.

Lancelot's face turned red. "It's not funny! Someone attacked me and you all laugh?!"

"Indeed," agreed Arthur, struggling to suppress his laughter. "Men," he cleared his throat, "Lancelot's right, we shouldn't," he choked back a grin, "be laughing, this is a serious matter."

Ardeth sat erect with steepled fingers, contemplating what the young knight had said about the sharp object.

The grand amusement quieted down to a hushed level, but no eyes were taken off Lancelot, even after he had donned his hood again.

Ardeth caught Tristan's eye and raised his eyebrow. Tristan instantly knew that the Egyptian knew that he had been an accomplice in Lancelot's "attack." To Ardeth, the tale sounded eerily similar to something his little niece had done to a young man back in Egypt. Said boy had made jokes about Raja's eyes, said they were unnatural. More of a birth anomaly. The young man had said he was attacked, a sharp object piercing his buttocks, and that was the last thing he remembered. His fate was worse than Lancelot's. The young man in Egypt had been circumcised.

Ardeth cleared his throat, immediately commanding the attention of all in the room. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I believe I can clear up this matter."

"You know who it was?" Lancelot asked. "I'll kill him!" he pounded his fists on the table.

"I think not, Lancelot," Ardeth stated definitively. "This hardly calls for a death sentence. I will speak to the person behind this, and if said person wishes to confess, that will be completely up to the individual."

"So I'll only know the bastard who did this if he _chooses_ to confess?" Lancelot whined indignantly.

"Lancelot," Arthur warned the offended knight of his tone.

"Sorry," he said to Ardeth.

"I understand." He stood up. "I believe this can be remedied." He bowed slightly and left the room, but not before giving Tristan the most discreet of smiles.

----------------------------------------

Lancelot was sulking in his room that was in the keep, too embarrassed to be seen. He wanted to get his hands on the bastard who had done this. Probably Romans! A gentle knock interrupted his furious thoughts.

"Who is it?" he snapped.

"Raja."

Great, just what he needed. "Go away."

Pause. "I want to talk to you."

"Not now."

There was silence, he wasn't sure if she had walked away or not, she was as quiet as a ghost walking through the halls. He sighed, and lay back on his bed. His cousin. His blood. Imagine his shock when Ardeth told him three years ago that he had known his father, and his father's brother. Lancelot could remember his father talking about his one and only brother, how they always had each other's backs, getting into mischief. His father also told him that his brother had the same dragon trinket. Lancelot was even named after his uncle.

Lancelot would have liked to get to know his cousin. He had little sisters, they had to be a few years older than Raja, but it hurt. Sometimes he felt like Raja had been brought here to be a replacement from the family he had been taken away from. He cursed himself for the thought; for he knew he wasn't true. She had lost her family, same as him. She had that lost look in her eyes, same as him. Although, hers seemed more lost, empty. Maybe he'd have made more of an effort to get to know her if Tristan wasn't always around. What did Raja need her cousin for anyway? She obviously liked Tristan a hell of a lot more than him.

Before his thoughts could continue, he heard the fiddling of the lock on his door, before he could even reach it, the door opened and the small body of Raja stepped in.

"Picking locks is not difficult, Lottie," she told him, shutting the door behind her.

He flinched. "Don't call me that."

"Your wish is my command, Lottie." She plopped down in front of the fire. "I am the one that ruined your hair," she said unremorsefully.

He let the words sink in, his face growing red, mouth opening to speak.

"Before you say anything," she interrupted, "I have to tell you that I do not feel sorry for what I did, so you won't be hearing an apology. I had a choice to confess, so I did. I knew once my uncle heard the circumstances of your "attack" he would know it was me."

Silence. Speechless. All the horrible things he had in mind to say to his assailant flew out the window. He sat down on the end of his bed.

"This is because of what I said about your hair," he stated.

She brushed off invisible lint from her tunic. "Yes."

Lancelot sighed heavily. Despite the fact that his looks were ruined, until his hair grew back, he knew he had it coming.

"Why don't you like me?" she asked quietly.

His eyes widened. "I like you."

Raja snorted in disbelief. "I can take most anything from anyone but a lie."

"I'm not lying. It's just-"

"You think I'm trying to replace your family. We resemble each other slightly through our fathers. It hurts you, and it makes you angry. It hurts me, too, the only difference is, is that I'm not angry. I can't replace your family, I wasn't even trying. If you don't want me to talk to you anymore, just tell me. I won't hold it against you." She stared at him from the fire place, the flames casting wispy shadows on her face.

"It's something like that," he conceded. "And I don't want to stop talking to you."

"Really?" her eyes lit up. She got up and plopped down next to him on his bed.

He smiled against his will. They talked about their fathers, their families they had lived with on different sides of the world. Raja remembered more Sarmatian songs and tales than he did; she told him she would play some of them on her nai. She would refresh his memory on Sarmatian folklore, and he would tell her some of the songs and tales that she didn't know.

They talked until it was late, Lancelot having forgotten about the absence of his hair. When she yawned, a tender feeling came over him, and he thought about how she had trouble sleeping, the screaming he heard coming from her room at night. He wanted to ask her what haunted her, for such a young person she had so many mysteries surrounding her. But he decided to save his questions for later, after they got to know each other better.

She gave him a big hug, to his surprise, before she left, and a kiss on the cheek. Just as she was about to close the door behind her, he spoke.

"Raja."

"Yeah?"

"One thing I haven't figured out. How did you get me from the street into my room?"

Raja raised her eyebrows.

"I mean, I know you didn't carry me..." A light of knowing came into Lancelot's eyes. "I'll kill him!"

"No! No! You should be thanking him," she insisted.

"For this?" he pointed at his head. "Why should I thank him?"

"Because he helped you."

"How is this," he pointed to his head again, "helping?"

"Because," she giggled, "I was going to circumcise you."

The door shut behind her, leaving Lancelot with his mouth agape.

1/31/07


	2. EDITED: Dragon's Wish

Another one I rewrote to make it more realistic

**Dragon's Wish**

_When you wish upon a star  
Makes no difference who you are  
Anything your heart desires  
Will come to you_

Chronology: Tristan is 18. Lancelot is 16. Raja is 8.

"You look very pretty," Raja told Adonis.

"What are you doing?" a harsh voice demanded.

Raja turned around to see her cousin looking at her angrily. Her previous elation ebbed.

"Brushing Adonis," she said timidly. Adonis was Lancelot's horse.

Lancelot's face turned a beet red. "There are flowers in his mane."

"Aren't they pretty?" she asked. She was standing on a bale of hay to boost her up. She had braided Adonis' mane with careful plaits and then stuck small flowers here and there within the twists. Her cousin stomped over to her and snatched the brush from her hand. Adonis nuzzled her head affectionately.

"You have molested my steed's hair!" He looked genuinely aghast at the offensive flowers.

"But he likes them," Raja said quietly.

Lancelot turned a furious face to her. Even though she was propped up, he still towered over her. "Oh?" he replied snidely. "Did he tell you that?"

Raja bit her bottom lip. Actually, Adonis had told her that, but she had a feeling saying so to her cousin would make him angrier. She was used to people not quite believing her when she said she could communicate with animals, but the bald contempt she received from her one and only cousin stung her.

Lancelot snorted. "He's already been tended to."

The little Egyptian girl stepped off of the bale of hay, thoroughly chastised, although she wasn't certain what she had done wrong. She only knew she had, once again, put herself on the outs with the cousin she wanted so desperately to like her.

"You act like all these horses belong to you," he continued. "Like that little stunt you pulled last week."

The week before Raja had released all the horses from their stalls. It had been a nice morning, so she thought they could all go for a walk. The young stable hand was snoring in the corner and Jols hadn't been around. Her and the horses, including her Uncle Ardeth's, walked around in a part of the forest that wasn't at all far away. When Jols had arrived to see that all the horses were gone, and the young boy knew nothing about it, he was incensed. When the rest of the knights were told that their horses were missing, they were angry. One of the Roman guards told them that he saw "that little Egyptian girl" leading them away into the woods. Just as they were about to go search, Raja and her companions were already heading back to the stables. They shot questions at her, but were relieved to see that their horses were all right.

"What did I say about this, Raja?" her uncle reproved.

"Nothing went wrong," she insisted. "I would have protected them with my life!" Her chest puffed up, but deflated from her uncle's stern glare. "We just wanted to go for a walk," she'd told him softly.

The sincerity of her explanation mollified the outrage of her actions. They could even be a bit amused. Jols was befuddled of her control over the horses, damned surprised they hadn't just run off. The only one that wasn't placated was Lancelot, now he was especially wary of his cousin being in Adonis's company.

"I said I was sorry and I wouldn't do it again," she was now telling him, hoping that he would forgive her.

"Damn right you won't," he snapped.

It was near dusk, the horses were being settled in for the night. Tristan and Dagonet entered the stables to see to their horses, only to find Lancelot lecturing Raja again, completely oblivious to the fact that she was near tears.

"Lancelot," Dagonet said.

The curly-haired knight whipped his head around at the intrusion. Raja took that moment to go to Lord Ra, her uncle's mount. The big black bent his head down and nuzzled her. She hid her forlorn expression in his nose.

While Dagonet spoke to Lancelot, Tristan was keeping an eye on Raja through his tangled bangs. He stood two stalls down from her, his horse, Dyne, poking around for apples about his person. He heard her whispering Arabic words to Lord Ra. Since her break down some two months ago, he had become more protective of her. Often, she would shuffle into his room at night, and burrow herself deep against him for comfort, often bringing one of her mouse friends along.

"She is just a little girl," Dagonet censured quietly to Lancelot.

"She bloody thinks she can talk to animals, acts like she runs the damned stables," he hissed, taking no such pains to be as discreet as the taller warrior.

His first comment was true, Dagonet thought, but still, "It does no harm to anyone, Lancelot," Dagonet countered, still whispering. "She loves animals; you know she would do nothing to endanger them."

Lancelot scoffed. "She ought to go play with skunks," his voice rose a little. "With that hair she could be mistaken for one."

From the corner of his eye, Tristan saw Raja wince and touch the white streak in her hair. He knew she had not been born with that, and also was aware that she was sensitive of it. He saw Raja swallow heavily, put the brush down, and pat Ra on the head. And as seemed to be the way, just then, Ardeth entered the stables. He instantly noticed his niece's low mood. She lifted her arms up to him like a child much younger to be held and he obliged. She tucked her head in the crook of his neck.

Ardeth looked at the three men, but only nodded in greeting and farewell before leaving the stables with his niece.

"She heard you," Tristan said, giving Lancelot a deadly glare.

Lancelot looked towards the stable doors before rolling his eyes. "She'll be fine."

"She better be," Tristan warned.

"Oh, there he is again," Lancelot mocked, "Sir Tristan to the rescue. Raja's hero."

"Sir Tristan" took a menacing step towards Lancelot. Dagonet held up a hand, ever the peace maker. He wanted to punch Lancelot's face in as well, but he reined that urge in. Tristan clenched his fists and left, lest he carry out his original intentions.

Dagonet shook his head at Lancelot, disappointed. "What the hell is your problem?"

For the first time, Lancelot looked slightly contrite. "She knows I was joking," he said dismissively.

The other knight sighed.

-----------------------------------------

Dagonet, Arthur, Bors, and Lancelot were already in the tavern eating their breakfasts. A few moments later, Tristan and Raja walked in and took seats next to each other at the table. Greetings stopped short when the men noticed Raja's hair.

"Uh...why did you cut off the white?" Bors asked, his mouth partially full of bread.

She smiled and touched the area where the white strip of hair had been. The night before she had chopped it off, cut it down as close to the scalp as she could get. In the morning she put some ink on the shaved area, and then rearranged the parting of her hair to make it look more natural.

"I never liked it," she said. "It was ugly." She nodded her head in confirmation. "It was." Just then, Jiminy the mouse crawled out from her tunic and onto her head. "Good morning, Jiminy," she said, her eyes rolling up.

Dagonet looked at Lancelot pointedly.

"What?" Lancelot shrugged. Then he noticed the increasingly unsettling gaze Tristan was giving him. The curly haired knight looked away.

Food was placed before Tristan and Raja. The little Egyptian dug into her porridge hungrily, while the scout chewed slowly, methodically, an ice gold stare pinned on Lancelot.

"I liked it," Dagonet said.

Raja took a sip of her drink, two small hands holding the mug. "That's nice of you, Dag. I really should have cut it off a long time ago. It wasn't natural." She shook her head, another confirmation to her words. "No."

"Well, if you were born with it-" Arthur said.

Raja's face scrunched in part indignation, part sorrow. "I wasn't born with it."

"Oh," Arthur was surprised. "I thought-"

She shook her head. "No, no."

"How'd you get it then?" Lancelot asked.

Tristan kicked him hard in the shin underneath the table. Lancelot's face turned red, groaning in pain. The scout's face betrayed nothing as he continued to eat his food.

"What was that for?" Lancelot demanded.

"Sorry," Tristan said, "muscle spasm." Couldn't the idiot tell that the subject was a sensitive one?

Raja's shoulders were hunched as she shoveled spoonfuls of porridge into her mouth. When she was finished she hastily excused herself, she had studies.

"Perhaps you should censor your words when she is about," Arthur suggested. He was amazed at his friend's aversion to Raja.

"What? I should coddle her like the rest of you?" he defended.

"Nobody's coddling her," Bors said defensively, now a piece of meat bumbling his words.

Lancelot scoffed. "Spoiled brat," he muttered.

Tristan kicked him in the other shin, causing Lancelot to howl even louder than before. Other patrons turned around to stare at the commotion. Dagonet cocked his eyebrow at the scout.

Tristan shrugged. "Muscle spasm."

-------------------------------------------

After her uncle had tucked her in, she'd waited about an hour before she commenced her plan. She had never snuck out of bed to leave the keep, and had never been out at night by her lonesome, except for that last time. Raja was already in her nightgown and cotton hose. She put a tunic on, and boots, then gathered her satchel which was already filled with the stuff she would need, and put it over her opposite shoulder. She put her cloak on last.

"Let's go, Jiminy," she whispered. She plucked him off of her pillow and let him wiggle himself inside of her bag.

Careful to be extra quiet, she tiptoed down the halls. The torches cast eerie shadows, which sent a shiver down her spine. But she bucked up, trying to be brave. She had to pass her uncle's study to get out of the keep. It was partially open, and she heard Arthur's and her uncle's voices discussing this and that. She waited for the right moment before passing by.

Out of the keep, it was like a different place. Not that many people out, of course, but sentries were ending and beginning their shifts. She was small, so it wasn't particularly difficult to shield her presence in the shadows. She'd been careful to wear her dark blue nightgown, hose, tunic, and cloak this night. Her long tresses blew lightly in the soft evening breeze. As she made her way towards the tavern, she ducked behind barrels and into dark alcoves whenever someone passed by. Some ladies were laughing loudly with the men they had next to them, and Raja figured it was past their bedtime too.

The area became brighter as she neared the tavern, it also became louder. The outside part of the tavern was raucous with drunken slurs (which Raja didn't understand) and female tittering. Yells for more ale abounded in the night. Behind a large barrel, Raja scanned the area for Tristan or Lancelot. She noticed Bors pulling Vanora onto his lap. Raja went the long way around, now she was nervous about being caught, more than before.

"We have to be quiet, Jiminy," she whispered to her small friend. "Okay?" She waited a moment for her friend to reply. "Good, good."

When she was where she figured she needed to be, a dark alley that smelled icky, but it was where the windows that looked into the tavern were.

"Oh poop," she said quietly. The windows were too high for her. She would have to hop up and down to see inside, and that just wouldn't do. The light from inside was the only illumination she had to see around her. There were crates and barrels, "Why would they leave this outside?" she asked Jiminy. But she figured it was better for her. There was one only slightly to the right of her, "Oh, it's empty!" No wonder they were outside. She pushed with all her might to get the empty crate under the window. She was panting, having only gotten the crate halfway underneath where she wanted it to be. That would have to do, she thought.

She didn't think to test the quality of the crate for her to stand on, instead she just went atop it, and she still had to stand on her tiptoes to see in the tavern. Jiminy took that moment to leave his place in the bag and place himself on the top of her head, which she, for once, did not notice.

She had never seen inside the tavern at night. It was very much different than the mornings or afternoons. It was certainly more crowded, and louder. The words inside were muffled. There was a table near to the window where she was, but broad backs were to her, but she still tried to be discreet. Her curious eyes roamed the room from behind the window, which was smudgy. A lot of people were in her way.

"Poop," she muttered. She used her sleeve to try to clean the glass for better viewing, but the smudginess was from the inside. Raja frowned, frustrated. Her eyes became slits, making the best of her loss.

Finally, she spotted her cousin, who had a lady on his lap. His arms were around her waist, and Lancelot was nuzzling her neck. How could he be so nice to this lady, but he always seemed uncomfortable when she asked for a hug? Raja was hurt. She saw Lancelot laugh loudly with the lady, and Raja wished he could be that full of laughter with her.

With a sigh, her eyes left her cousin and a few tables away, she spotted Trissy. He was sitting alone, nursing a mug of ale. Raja would have joined him to keep him company, but by now, the loudness was making her uncomfortable. From around the corner, there was more rambunctious things going on. Raja thought briefly of abandoning her foolhardy plan, but she hadn't come all this way for nothing! She could be as brave as her uncle, her _baba,_ and _walida_. Even Trissy! He would never retreat.

Raja looked back to her cousin, then back to where Tristan...

Raja's brow scrunched. Where was Trissy? He had just been there! She strained on her tiptoes, craning her neck to see more of the tavern. She didn't register the teetering of the crate – which was moldy, and the wood was weak and splintered from being left out in shoddy weather – or anyone approaching her.

Raja jumped when she heard a deep "ahem."

She squealed, and when she tried to turn around, she lost her balance and would have fallen onto the ground had not steady hands caught her.

"Lemme go!" she screeched, fear filling her. She struggled.

"Hey, watch the fists," the man said.

She instantly recognized Trissy's voice and stopped squirming. Relief filled her. "Where'd you come from?!"

He balanced her before letting her go, and stood above her with arms crossed over his chest. "What are you doing out here?"

"How did you know I was out here? I was being extra careful! I was!"

"I saw you from the window." Just because it appeared he wasn't aware of what was going on around him, didn't mean he wasn't, because he always was.

Raja opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. "How did you know it was me?" She was thoroughly disappointed that she hadn't been as stealthy as she thought.

"The mouse gave you away."

Raja's hands flew to her head, feeling Jiminy. "Oh, Jiminy, you were supposed to stay hidden!"

Tristan smirked. Then turned serious. When he'd spotted her from his vantage point, he was surprised, but knew he was seeing Raja, although she should not have been out at this time a night, especially alone, around the tavern. He'd instantly abandoned his drink and walked out of the building before someone besides _him_ noticed her. And even though he hadn't been far away, and his swift, graceful strides would take him to her in less than a minute, he still dreaded that someone could have already gotten to her.

"Come on," he said.

Raja instantly took his hand, and after a brief moment's hesitation – he'd never held her hand around other people – he clamped firmly to her small hand, which was drowned in his. They stepped into the light, away from the reek of the alleyway which smelled of piss. No one said anything as they walked, and he knew no one would dare approach him, but he was on his guard anyway because he had precious quarry with him.

Raja was oblivious to anything else but talking to Jiminy about his behavior, but Tristan heard the comment, "Ain't she a little young for ya, man!" Deep, scathing laughter was clear to Tristan's ears. Still walking, he turned his head, letting the light of bonfires illuminate his face. He took in the man's appearance – beer belly, fat face, greasy blond hair, poor complexion and everything that would identity him. Tristan committed it to memory, because he would be using it as soon as he could. The cold glare on his sharp face and the promise of a future meeting clear on the slightest upward curve of his lips, halted the laughter of those men, for they instantly recognized him. Tristan turned his head away.

"I'm glad you're here, Trissy," Raja said, tugging on his hand. "I need your help."

He looked down at her. "For?"

-----------------------------------------

They waited outside Lancelot's barracks, after Tristan had evasively explained that Lancelot most likely would not be heading back to his room in the keep. Raja had not questioned Trissy's judgment. So after she had explained her "plan" to him, he'd reluctantly decided to help her, because he had a feeling she was determined to go through with it. They hid in a corner by Lancelot's barracks, quiet around these parts.

"You be quiet this time, Jiminy," Raja said to the mouse.

-----------------------------------------

Not too long after, which was good because Raja was dozing off, leaving Tristan as look-out, Lancelot came traipsing down the semi-dark road, by his lonesome. The little Egyptian took a blow-gun and a thin, wooden dart with a red feather on the top, from her satchel. Tristan cocked an eyebrow at the odd weapon he'd never seen before.

"From Africa," Raja whispered. "My Uncle and _Baba_ could both shoot a fly with this." She nodded and put the dart into the hollow area of the tube.

"And you?"

"Um...big targets. I think I will aim for Lancelot's rear end or thigh."

Tristan was dubious. He had seen Raja at archery, and she was fair at twenty yards, but with an even smaller target, he wasn't quite sure. Lancelot's whistling became louder as he approached, and Raja put her mouth to the blow-gun with comical concentration on her face. Tristan had to give her credit for trying at least. From where they were hiding, she was only three feet away from Lancelot's thigh, and through sheer dumb luck, she blew, and the dart lodged itself in her cousin's thigh.

Lancelot cursed. He looked down and plucked the odd weapon from his person. He had a mere moment to examine it before his eyes rolled in the back of his sockets and he fell to a heap on the ground.

Raja popped up from her hiding place like a cobra on the attack and ran to her cousin. She took the dart from his hand and put it carefully back in her satchel. Tristan stood next to her, gazing down at the "sleeping" Lancelot.

Raja pulled on Lancelot's arm, trying to get him to move. She heaved, and Tristan simply stood there in silent amusement. Raja took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips.

"Poop." Then she looked at her satchel in a beat of silence. "No, Jiminy, don't try to help. You might get crushed," she said.

When she bent to try again, Tristan decided to take charge and he easily got a hold of Lancelot and flung the man over his shoulder.

"Oooh," Raja breathed in awe. "Come on! Come on!" She hurried down to Lancelot's barracks and stood at the door, waiting for Tristan. Raja opened the door and they walked in, Tristan unceremoniously plopped his baggage on a chair.

Raja locked the door and then started the fire. She was muttering instructions to herself under her breath. She took some things out of her valise, placing them just so on a table.

Tristan saw scissors, and a shaving implement. He wondered whose satchel this was. He sat on the end of the bed, procured an apple from his pocket, and began to shave off slices with his dagger.

Lancelot's head lolled backwards like a drunkard. Raja put her small hand on his head, elongated one of his curls and let it spring back into place. She had a regretful expression on her face. She already had the scissors in one hand. She snipped off a few curls and placed them in her pocket.

Snippety, snip, snip she went until all Lancelot's glorious dark brown curls were laying like fallen soldiers at her feet. She placed the scissors on the table and picked up the shaving implement.

Just as she was about to start "shaving" Tristan stopped her. "You can't do it like that," he said.

She looked at the blade, then at him. "Why not?"

"You have to have oil to put on his head so the blade doesn't end up taking off his scalp."

Raja gasped at his words, horrified that she might have caused undue harm to her cousin. Tristan stood up and picked up the jar of oil on the table that Raja hadn't taken thought of.

"Is that what that's for?" Raja asked. "Oooh. Good thing you're here, Trissy."

Tristan gathered she was completely out of her element here. He gestured for her to hand over the blade and he proceeded to finish what she had set out to do. He slathered some of the oil on Lancelot's head, letting it sink in, then deftly took off the remaining hairs. He was rather enjoying it. The dark knight was vain about his hair, and the rest of him for that matter.

Raja plucked a few more curls off of the floor and put them in her pocket. She gathered the rest with her hands and threw them into the fire. Tristan decided to take off the rest of Lancelot's hair, his eyebrows, and beard which the warrior took such pride in.

Then came a knock on the door.

Raja gasped.

"Lancelot," a woman's voice called in a sing-song way. "Open the door and I'll open for you."

Raja was staring at the door as if it were a foreign entity. Tristan hoped she didn't understand the woman's words, and figured she didn't.

"Should I answer it, Trissy?" Raja whispered.

"Tell her he's not here."

Raja nodded dutifully, and opened the door just slightly, and peered up at the woman she recognized as the one who was sitting on Lancelot's lap at the tavern.

"Oh!" the woman said, surprised. From her standing point, she could see neither Lancelot nor Tristan. "Who are you?"

Jiminy climbed on Raja's head and the woman held a visible sign of disgust and fear on her face.

"This is Jiminy," Raja introduced.

The woman nodded.

"Um...Lancelot is using the facilities," Raja said.

"The _facilities_?" she echoed.

"Yes." Raja nodded and confirmed her words, "Yes, he is." Then, "He has the squirts."

Tristan smirked from inside the room.

"The what, dear?" the woman asked.

"Squirts," Raja said perfunctorily. "He ate bad berries."

The woman caught on to what the "squirts" were. "I see."

"It gave him a rash," Raja went on.

To this, the woman reacted as if the little girl had said Lancelot had contracted the plague. "A rash?!"

Tristan knew in the woman's line of "work" that a "rash" was nothing to joke about. But he was thoroughly amused, nonetheless.

"But he'll be okay," Raja said, taking the woman's aghast countenance as worry for her cousin.

The woman was backing away from the door. "Yes, well." She cleared her throat. "I'll just be...going now." She hurried away, and Raja closed the door, bewildered.

She turned to Tristan, "It's just a rash."

Tristan chuckled, and by then, he was finished. Lancelot now lacked any hair on his entire head. Raja giggled a bit.

Raja took Lancelot's boots off, and Tristan put the knight in bed. While he cleaned off the implements, Raja tucked her cousin in. She pulled his dragon trinket with the ruby eyes from under his jerkin and compared it with hers. Tristan saw the sad look on her face. Raja put the trinket down and put her small hand on Lancelot's forehead. She bent down and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

"You sleep good, Lottie," she said sincerely.

----------------------------------------

Lancelot sat hunched in his seat at the Round Table. His cloak was pulled around him, the hood covering his head and most of his face. He'd woken up disoriented, a little woozy. The last thing he had remembered was walking towards his barracks to prepare himself for a long, erotic night with a tavern whore, whom he could not recall the name of. Then, he'd felt a prick in his leg...nothing. He had rubbed his hand down his face, wiping away the vestiges of sleep. He felt the lack of facial hair, the cool draft on his head. And adding insult to injury, the culprit had the nerve to attempt to soften the situation by tucking him in.

The other knights were gathered around the table, wondering what Lancelot was about. Tristan knew, his smirk was tight, easily hidden.

"Is there something wrong, Lancelot?" Arthur asked.

"No," he muttered.

"Cold?" Tristan mused.

"No," the newly bald knight replied tersely.

"Are you ill?" Dagonet asked.

"No," Lancelot answered gruffly.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind dismissing the theatrics so we could begin the meeting?" Arthur assumed his commander's tone.

Lancelot heard the tone. Arthur might have been his best friend, but he was also his commander.

"Lancelot," Arthur repeated. "It is not cold in here."

Lancelot fairly growled and then pulled the hood off of his face. There was a booming moment of silence before the men broke out in raucous laughter. Lancelot sneered at each and every one of them.

"Shut it, all of you!" he snapped.

Bors was coughing and laughing. "You look like a penis with clothes on!" And this made the knights laugh even harder.

"Men, men!" Arthur attempted to subdue his knights. Although he was hard pressed not to burst out laughing as well.

"Pissed off the wrong woman, did ya?" Bors guffawed.

"Knights!" Arthur rose his voice, his face tinged rouge with suppressed amusement. The men piped down. "Let us get on with the meeting." He cleared his throat and began to speak. "There is a matter of a man killed just last night. His neck was broken, found in the alley near the tavern..."

----------------------------------------

Lancelot was sulking in his room that was in the keep, too embarrassed to be seen. He wanted to get his hands on the bastard who had done this. Probably Romans! His beautiful hair and well coiffed beard...gone! A conspiracy if there ever was one. Not to mention, there were rumors around the whore community that he had some sort of rash, and the women were giving him odd looks and avoiding him like the bloody plague. When he got the hands on the bastard who did this...

His silent rants were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Be gone!" he yelled.

"Lancelot," Ardeth's voice sounded.

The knight bit his lip. He got up and opened the door with a contrite look on his face, ready to apologize. "I didn't know it was you."

"Quite all right." He looked down at his niece, who had her head down, and Jiminy on her shoulder. "I believe Raja has something to say to you."

The little girl looked up at her uncle with wide eyes, but he did not give in. He had heard about Lancelot's little problem, and connected it with the guilty expression on his niece's face. After sitting her down and looking at her sternly, she blurted out the whole story before he could even say a word. He was upset that she had ventured out into the night by herself, he had made express instructions that she was not to do so, ever. She rarely went against his wishes. Raja left out Tristan's part in it, even though Ardeth needed not for her to say so, because he had surmised it himself. He was grateful that Tristan had looked out for her.

Now, they stood in front of Lancelot. "Raja," he said gently but firmly.

Raja then help up a small draw string bag to her cousin. After a brief pause, Lancelot took it and opened it. He pulled out a familiar curl.

"You!" he accused.

Raja leaned closer to her uncle.

"Perhaps the two of you would like to speak to one another," Ardeth suggested.

Lancelot was still stunned. Raja was holding her uncle's hand in a death grip. When he said something softly to her in Arabic, she nodded and then sighed.

"I'm sorry, Lottie," she whispered.

His entire head was blushed. His jaw was clenched.

Raja scuffed her shoe on the floor.

"I will be in my study," Ardeth said. "I think the two of you have some clearing of the air to do." He took Jiminy from his niece's shoulder and place the small mouse on his own.

Lancelot was speechless. He was leaving him alone with his young cousin? Oh, may the gods help him. He took a deep breath and stepped to the side so his young cousin could enter the room. She plopped on a chair, and twiddled her thumbs. Lancelot sat on the end of his bed.

"You," he said again.

Raja nodded contritely.

"What did I ever do to you?!"

Raja stared at him with wide, guileless eyes. "You were mean."

Lancelot was ready to scoff, but he once again saw the lack of white streak in her hair, and then he knew why she had done it. Any derisive comments died in his throat. Gods, she was so small. Smaller than his own sister had been when he had left Sarmatia. She would be about fourteen now, though he could not recall her face clearly. He missed his family, certainly, but as time went by those painful mournings got stuffed deeper down inside of him. He did not want to get attached to this young girl. Quite frankly, he did not even know what to make of her. She was the oddest child he'd ever encountered in his life. Not to mention the most haunted. She had lost her family, same as him, although under more violent circumstances he knew.

"I guess I should apologize, too," he finally said.

She was visibly surprised.

"I should not have said what I said," he went on.

"It hurt my feelings," she said quietly.

Stick the knife deeper, he thought. If he wasn't so sure she was abjectly sincere he certainly wouldn't feel like the biggest heel on earth. Then he heard her sniff. Oh, gods she was crying, wasn't she? When he saw her wipe her face, he knew she was. So, he gathered his wits and went to stand next to her. Tentatively, he put a hand on her small shoulder, and was always amazed by how utterly small her bones were.

"I am sorry I hurt your feelings," he said.

"You don't like me," she sniffled.

"I like you," he said, and was surprised to find he spoke the truth. "I'm just...not used to children." He dragged a chair over so he could sit next to her, and she promptly scuttled to sit across his lap. Well, then! It wasn't the first time. Only now, he put his arms around her more readily, and let her rest her head against his chest.

"You look like my_baba_," she said. She looked up at him. "I miss your hair."

Lancelot chuckled. "So do I."

And they sat like that for a while, her small presence bringing him a sense of peace, and he felt loved and cared for in such a pure way he hadn't experienced in what felt like forever.

_If your heart is in your dreams  
No request is too extreme  
When you wish upon a star  
As dreamers do_

_-Cliff Edwards "Jiminy Cricket"_

1/31/07

Edited: 2/12/08


End file.
